


A Night at the Oscars

by neocitybynight



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Angst, F/M, Smut, actor haechan, technically an epilogue to lights camera fuck you, yes sooman is his father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26799493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitybynight/pseuds/neocitybynight
Summary: It’s Oscar night, and you and Haechan make a bet - whoever wins Best Actor gets a blowjob.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Reader
Kudos: 39





	A Night at the Oscars

“I’m not ready,” you sigh, looking critically in the mirror. 

“What do you mean?” Haechan comes up behind you. “You look good enough to eat.” Pretending to growl a little, he presses a kiss to your neck, trailing a finger across the black silk tie of your dress.

“Ah, you’re bad,” you say. Reaching over to the mirror, you pull a length of silk from the dark mahogany frame. You spin, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his crisp white shirt. 

“Yeah, but I _am_ going to be taking home that Best Actor,” he says.

“Really?” you say, sliding the tie around his throat and pulling it tight. On instinct, his hands go to your waist, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “You really think you’ll be able to beat everyone? Timmy, Adam, Joaquin...and who’s that young guy? Shotaro Osaki? Ah, he’s a cutie.”

“Cuter than me?” he pouts.

“Hm,” you hum, walking over to your vanity. It’s been two months since the premiere of your film Cherry Bomb, and you and Haechan decided to date in earnest, after so many months of fake dating to please the studio and the fans. You’re pleasantly surprised that you haven’t killed each other yet - the banter is still good, the conversations haven’t run dry, the sex is still great...maybe too much so.

“You know, my stylist Penny wasn’t happy with the hickies she had to cover,” you say, grabbing your clutch and fur stole from the vanity chair. “She was tutting about how _People_ would have a field day.”

Haechan shrugs. “You’re sexy as fuck and I like your neck. A lot. So what if people know?”

“I don’t know, it’s just...I’ve never really dated in the public eye before,” you say. 

“As far as the public knows, we’ve been dating for nearly six months.”

“Yeah, but...” you bite your lip.

“What?” Haechan grabs your coat from the hanger (he always claims there’s some kind of maintenance at his Beverly Hills mansion, and so _has_ to come spend most of his time at your considerably more modest bungalow) and slides it around your shoulders, careful not to crinkle your dress.

“I don’t know, ever since Cherry Bomb was released, and I got the Best Actress nomination, there’s been this new level of scrutiny,” you say. “I get imposter syndrome all the time, like do I even belong here? How the fuck do I compete with people like Helen Mirren and Michelle Yeoh? They’re so much more qualified, they should take home the award tonight.”

“Hey, hey,” Haechan says, turning you to face him. “I’m not saying your fears aren’t valid, I’ve spent years coming to terms with living in the spotlight, and I’m still not there yet. But you can’t change how the public views you, you can only try your best, and that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

He tips a finger under your chin. “For the record, I think your performance was great, and you deserve to be up there as much as anyone. Even if you don’t win...”

“Hey, who said I was worried about winning?” you say, cracking a crooked smile. It’s hard to stay stressed when Haechan is being so sweet for once, but you can feel the banter quickly heating up. “I’m not the one up against Shotaro Osaki.”

“Oh, you’re so confident,” Haechan croons. “Okay. I’ll make you a wager. How about...whoever wins gets a blowjob.”

“Like you have a problem getting head. Or giving.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Make that unlimited head for a week. Blowjobs, anywhere, everywhere. Only if the other party is consenting, of course, but are we really planning on doing much during afterparty week anyway?”

“And what if both of us win? Or neither?”

“Oh, please,” he says. “Either way, we’ll just get super champagne drunk and have steamy hot tub sex under the stars, okay?”

“Hm...” you say, pulling a contemplative face as you step outside. The limo idles at the curb, shining chrome-black in the quick-setting Los Angeles sun. “Is that a promise?”

Haechan holds the car door open, pressing a kiss to your hand as you slide into the plush leather seats. “Have I ever let you down before?”

You shake your head. The limo pulls away, Haechan pops the cherry champagne perched in the ice bucket of the in the minibar, and so begins your night. First comes the red carpet, then mingling with various celebrities in one of the spacious ballrooms in the Dolby Theater (a tipsy Tom Holland flirts with you until Haechan comes over and slings an arm around you, murder his eyes) before you take your seats at the actual ceremony.

Seated between Haechan and esteemed director Yuta Nakamoto (who compliments you on your performance, his smile wide and bright, implying heavily that he would love to see you audition for his upcoming historical film), you watch as this year’s host, silver screen veteran Doyoung Kim, takes the stage.

The ceremony flies by, an endless ebb and flow of celebrity presenters and award winners. Then, the name flashes onstage: Best Actor in a Leading Role. You slip your hand down, grasping Haechan’s, and are surprised to feel how clammy it’s gotten, how he squeezes your fingers briefly before holding tight.

“And the Oscar for Best Actor in a Leading Role goes to...” the presenter opens up the embossed gold envelope. “Haechan Lee, for Cherry Bomb.”

The room explodes into clapping, the cameras swivel to each of the nominee’s faces. Haechan looks to you, eyes shining, and leans in, kissing you softly before standing up, adjusting the buttons on his suit jacket. “Couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispers, lips lingering on yours before he takes to the stage. After accepting the golden statuette, and giving a short yet very eloquent acceptance speech, he sits back down next to you.

“What a pretty mouth,” he says, running a thumb along your lip bottom, staining his skin slightly scarlet. “Can’t wait to be in it for the next week.”

“Oh yeah? Just you wait,” you say. The next few rounds of awards are handed out, until there’s only one left.

“This year’s nominees for Best Actress in a Leading Role are Helen Mirren, Michelle Yeoh, Kerry Washington, Lizzy O’Mallory and-”

The presenter reads your name, but you barely absorb it. Your mouth has gone dry, your heart beating in your throat as clips from each of the films play on the JumboTron. You feel all eyes on you as the cameras pan to your face.

“And the winner of this year’s Oscar for Best Actress in a Leading Role is...”

One heartbeat, then another, then the presenter says your name. It’s like you’ve been hit by a freight train - all your anxiety and nerves are blown away, replaced only by...euphoria.

This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for, as you stand, give Haechan a huge hug, shake director Johnny Seo’s hand as you walk down the velvet-carpeted aisle and walk up the stage steps, legs shaking only a bit.

The presenter, Penelope Cruz, shakes your hand and presents you with the gold statue. It’s heavier than you expected, warming slightly in your hand as you grasp it, adrenaline filling your veins as millions of eyes watch you, from all over the world. 

“I-” you clear your throat. “Firstly, I want to thank the Academy, John Seo and the entire Cherry Bomb team at Byun Studios. I want to thank my friends, family, fans, everyone who has been instrumental in bringing me right here, right now, holding this golden guy and winning an award that has only ever existed in my imagination. I want to thank my fellow nominees, for their phenomenal work this year. Everything I’ve experienced so far in my whirlwind journey here in Hollywood has been crazy, amazing, technicolor, everything I’d ever dreamed of and more, and so I want to thank everyone assembled here, everyone at home watching this, for making it possible.”

Everyone in the room applauds, and you can feel the seconds draining away. “Lastly, I wanted to thank my costar and boyfriend, Haechan Lee, for making my feature debut such a memorable one. I-” you swallow, fixing your eyes on his dark ones, shining with admiration and something else, something deeper, tender, something edging on...love? 

“I could never have done this without you.”

The auditorium explodes into applause, and like a wave, the attendees begin to stand. As the music swells through the glittering theatre, there’s not a single person in their seat. You see the faces of actors, directors, producers, people you’ve admired since you were small, all smiling at you as you hand off the trophy (it’ll be shipped to your house in a day or two) and take your seat. 

“I love you,” Haechan whispers, slipping his hand into yours. 

“What was that?”

He opens his mouth, probably to follow up with a joke, but Doyoung is speaking again, and you turn toward the stage to watch. The ceremony wraps up soon after, and the first afterparty you attend is the official one, hosted by some record magnate, at the YG Dance Hall. 

It’s a whirlwind of compliments and introductions, of sipping champagne from glittering crystal flutes, dresses and suits in every jewel tone imaginable. After making your rounds, meeting a few directors who are practically hounding down your agents to sign you two for their next movies, you and Haechan are just preparing to head out to the first of many Oscar afterparties. 

As you are walking towards the door, a venerable man steps in front of you. Though you’ve never met him in person, there is no mistaking the regal bearing and sharp, coal-black eyes that miss nothing. Before you stands Sir Soo-man Lee, one of the most decorated actors of his generation, the first Korean actor to be knighted by the queen, and Haechan’s father.

He inclines his head, saying your name, congratulating you on the award. “I would expect anyone that my son chose to attach himself to would have equally high career ambitions.”

“Dad,” Haechan says, and you’re surprised at how quiet his voice is.

“You know, I was pleasantly surprised to see your name on the ballot for this year, Donghyuck,” he says. “Though I am a member of the Academy, I was of course not allowed to vote on your nomination, but I am glad that you’ve finally decided to choose serious projects instead of Netflix and cable swill.”

You feel Haechan tense beside you, and look to him, expecting him to blow up, his natural tendency towards brashness and harsh words floating to the top. Instead, he just looks at his feet, cheeks blooming red, and it’s this that spurs you to speak.

“Haechan is one of the most talented actors I’ve gotten the chance to work with,” you say. “As far back as our first screen tests, I can remember him really shining, really getting a feel for our characters’ relationship. Every day on set was something new and unexpected, and I learned a lot from working with him. You yourself worked him on Reparations, you know what he can do, when given the right opportunities.”

Soo-man’s gaze snaps to you, his head tilting dangerously. “You went to Stella Adler, correct? Acting school, then cable, now the Oscars, my, you’ve come a long way, starting from virtually nothing, how...refreshing.”

Now it’s your turn to have your cheeks heat, your breath stolen by an absolutely gutting yet honest diatribe, but quick as a flash, Haechan moves forward, landing a punch directly in his father’s face.

Soo-man Lee stumbles back, surprise and anger blooming in his eyes as he presses a hand to his jaw. Haechan shakes out his hand. “You know, I can take a lot. Ever since I was a kid, you manipulated me like your own personal Pinocchio for years, but I’m done. I’ve taken years of shit and disappoint from you, but the moment you start on people I care about...that’s crossing the line. Fuck you, Dad. Really. I don’t care how many awards you have or how much everyone in this stupid town loves you, you are and always will be a dick.” 

The bouncers walk forward. “Please, get him out of here before he starts a scene,” one of them murmurs. “Also, congratulations on the award.”

Stammering out a thanks, you pull Haechan out of the dance hall, leaving his father, fuming and hurt, standing like a fool. In the limo, Haechan crumples against you, all the fight gone from his body. “I hate him,” he whispers, body wound tight and angrily, staring out the window. You whisper his address to the chauffeur, before closing the partition.

“Hey,” you say, taking his hand. He looks at you, jaw clenched, pain in his eyes. “Let’s just get you home, okay? I want to talk, but only when you’re ready.”

The car stops, and you open the door, pulling Haechan after you. Thanking the driver, you wind his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the driveway. You’ve been to Haechan’s house before, but you’ve never stopped being surprised with the sheer size of it all. He lives in a practical castle of glass, room upon room full of impersonal, expensive imported furniture, a patio and pool he barely uses, a bar and a movie theatre and a gym and a million rooms he rarely frequents.

The only really personal room in the entire house is his bedroom. Contradictory to what you originally thought, he doesn’t sleep in the master suite, instead choosing a more modest room whose west wall, made entirely of tempered glass, looks onto the sprawling LA metropolis below. A bookshelf, a sizable record collection, a large gaming computer, all make it feel more like his own space.

Haechan falls onto the bed, spread-eagled, and you crawl up beside him, lying still in the dark silence. “I hate him,” he says, voice soft, ragged. You roll onto your side, propping your chin on your hand, and are alarmed to find him crying silently, tear tracks glittering across his cheeks. “He makes me feel so small, so weak, so useless.”

“Haechan, stop,” you say. “Like you said, you’re your own person. You just won Best Actor, and that pales in comparison to who you are in real life.”

“Does it?” he says. “My whole life has been about achievement, about chasing the goals my dad always had for me. I don’t have many friends, many real hobbies, much of anything besides acting. I don’t know how to be anything else.”

"Stop.” You shift, climbing over him, legs falling to either side of his hips. Grabbing his face between your hands, you force him to look at you. “Haechan, you are so much more than what your father made you. You’re smart, funny, kind, the best boyfriend I could ask for. You will always be enough, no matter what your father or the Academy or anyone says. You’re enough for me, you’re enough for yourself, you’re such a bright, fun, funny person, you can’t let a miserable old grump like your dad bring you down like that.”

Haechan looks up at you, biting his lip, hand coming up to cradle your face. You press a kiss to his palm and he shivers. “Did you really just call my dad a miserable old grump?”

“That was all you got from my monologue?” you laugh. “Silly Haechan.” 

Leaning down, you capture his lips with your own. The kiss is soft, slow, stained with just a little salt from his tears. You move your lips against his, drawing out all the pain, all the hurt, leaving nothing but passion, cool and simmering against his plush mouth.

Haechan sighs, raising up a hand to fist in your hair, deepening the kiss. His tongue slips against yours, and it’s like a wakeup call. Desire slams into you like a tidal wave, and then you’re kissing, really kissing, hands rough, expensive clothes tearing, the desperate need to be close to each other, to touch and be touched and burn away all the stress and anguish with heady lust, overpowering.

You drop your head from his lips to his neck, kissing each mole, every patch of skin you can reach as you make your way down his body. He shivers as you brush your lips over his nipples, his abs, bite the delicate skin of his hip just a bit. He moans, low and throaty, as you lick up his cock, swears as you take him in your mouth.

Haechan’s fists dig deep into the sheets as you pleasure him, tongue swirling around him, lips devouring every glorious inch of him, mouth leaving no piece of him untouched, body loving him in everything that he is and isn’t, desire singing through your blood like a drug.

His moans grow increasingly higher and breathier as you bob your head faster, fingers digging into his hips, pinning him down, putting him entirely at your mercy. You can feel the tightening in his balls, the restless shifting of his legs, and pull back with a pop. “Look at me,” you rasp, keeping a hand on the base of his shaft.

He looks up at you, eyes hazy, unfocused, your touch driving him wild. 

“You. Are. Enough,” you say, punctuating every word with a stroke. Haechan’s head thrashes against the pillow, and it’s all he can do to keep eye contact. “I Iove you, Haechan. Everything that you are, everything that you were, I love every piece of you, and nothing in the world can change that. Now, come.”

With one last stroke, you drop your head, enveloping his cock in your mouth once more and he comes hard, crying out, hips bucking off the bed, knuckles white, a tear slipping down his cheek. When it’s over, when you’re milked him of everything he has (and swallowed, for good measure, which makes him growl) you sit back.

Haechan lies back, carefully-gelled hair sweaty and unkempt against his forehead. “Fuck,” he murmurs. 

You hum lightly, stroking circles across his abs, making him shiver again, hand clamping down on yours in warning. “God, you’re something else,” Haechan says. “I just want to...”

“Mm?”

“I want to just touch every inch of you,” he says, sitting up. “Your body, your lips, your soul, everything.”

“Well, that’s quite a lot you want from me,” you say. “Think you can really handle?”

He laughs. “Well, we did just win some pretty big awards tonight. I kinda remember mentioning champagne and hot tub sex?”

Two minutes later, you’re pressed up against the wall of Haechan’s spacious hot tub, moans curling through the soft bubbling hum of the water. He kneels between your legs, drawing your thighs around his hips, hands holding you in place as he ravishes your lips and throat. “Fuck,” you moan, opening your eyes and staring up at the stars.

“What are you thinking about?” Haechan murmurs, pressing a kiss between your breasts.

“I just didn’t know it was possible to be this happy,” you say, cringing a little at the word’s cliché sting, but it’s true. People don’t get what they want like this, not really.

Haechan hums, hand slipping beneath the water, fingers just teasing your clit. “I make you happy, huh?”

“Don’t let that get to your head,” you laugh. “But yes. Very.”

He laughs, fingers slipping into you, and then there’s no more talking. He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he fingers you. It doesn’t take long to work you up, and at your breathless request, he removes his fingers and slides his cock into you with a groan.

Though the sensations themselves are nothing new - Haechan’s hands on your skin, the stroke of him inside you, the way he buries his face in your neck and loses himself, thrusting into you again and again until you’re both moaning and shaking, pleasure dancing through your veins, is something you’ve all felt before but it feels different. More.

The heat of the bubbles on your skin, the feeling of him filling you so deliciously, the sheer adrenaline of the day and the intimacy of it all, winds you up to an unimaginable high. Haechan hand slips under the water again, stroking your clit just as he bites down on a sensitive spot under your jaw, breathing out your name. Something inside you snaps, then it’s over, pleasure ebbing, flowing, filling up and spilling over, as your orgasm sweeps through you.

With a gaps, Haechan comes, spilling himself deep inside you, a litany of swears and moans rolling from his lips. You just hold each other for awhile, foreheads bowed against each other, the water burnishing your skin and the cool February wind whisking across your bare neck.

There will be time to talk, a lot of it, times when you and Haechan will spill your most intimate secrets, when you just hold him as he cries. But for now, it’s enough to be so close, so intimate, and you just stay like that, embracing in the hot tub until you both get pruny and return inside, where Haechan makes love to you again and again, bodies twisting and sighing together until the sun rises and you drift off to sleep, bathed in the glow of the glittering beast of a city below.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on Tumblr under @neocitybynight ♥︎


End file.
